


The Shop Next Door

by Sadbhyl



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-15
Updated: 2011-01-15
Packaged: 2017-10-15 14:51:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/161911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sadbhyl/pseuds/Sadbhyl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sharon knows all the regulars at Speedy’s.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Shop Next Door

**Author's Note:**

> I love stories about the fringe people to series. This is one of those stories.

“Oy, Shaz, heads up,” Mick called from behind the counter. “The lovebirds are coming.”

Sharon looked up from wiping the tables and out the front window through the vinyl lettering that proclaimed Speedy’s Sandwich Shop. It was snowing, and already the light was fading, promising more snow before nightfall.

A cab was stopped at the curb, not an unusual sight, and two men were getting out. Snow was already collecting on the shoulders and dark curls of the taller man, who ignored it to continue studying his smartphone while his companion paid the driver and joined him on the sidewalk. They paused on the sidewalk, obviously arguing as the cab pulled away, although it wasn’t angry. More of a debate then, although the brunet never looked away from his phone. Then instead of going to the door beside the shop, the smaller man headed to the restaurant door, the brunet following, still not looking up.

“Afternoon, John,” Sharon called as John Watson, a familiar customer, stood holding the door for his flatmate. “Mr. Holmes.” Although she and John were on first name basis, she was never sure what to call his friend. She knew his first name, of course, but he’d never offered it to her. Her mother had always taught her it couldn’t hurt to be too polite, so she always fell back on that. “Beautiful day out.”

John grinned. “If you’re a reindeer.”

“Pity it’s three weeks past Christmas.” Sharon tucked the rag in her apron tie. “What can we get you boys today?”

John was already headed to the chiller with the sodas and quarts of milk. “The usual for me, Shaz, thanks.”

She folded her arms over her chest and looked at Sherlock. “And how about you?”

He ignored her, still intent on his phone.

“Sherlock,” John chided.

“Hm?” He still didn’t quite look up. “Oh, nothing for me. I’m not eating.”

She noticed he didn’t say he wasn’t hungry.

John sighed. “The chicken soup, Sharon, thanks. And a chop salad if you’ve got one.”

Finally Sherlock rolled his eyes and put away the phone. “French onion. And a Caesar salad, no chicken.”

John shook his head. “You know it takes more energy to digest vegetable matter than protein.”

“It’s what I want.”

John held up his hands. “As long as you’re eating, I’m happy.”

Sharon grinned as she handed the slip to Mick. He winked at her and whispered, “True love.”

It took five minutes for Mick to put together the soup, salad and one roast beef on rye with extra horseradish to go. While they waited, the two men sat at one of the tables, hunched over Sherlock’s phone as Sherlock quietly explained some detail of their latest case at a quiet mile a minute, John nodding and occasionally asking questions. Sharon looked forward to reading John’s blog in a week or so, once the case was solved, and trying to match the story up with this moment. She was almost disappointed when Mick called, “Order up.”

John picked out a couple of bags of crisps, not noticing Sherlock eyeing the chocolate bars down the counter. He slipped one into his pocket with an unsmiling wink to Shaz, who added it to the bill without a word. John never checked the total when he paid, just offered up the cash and dropped a pound in the tip jar. “Take care getting home tonight,” he advised, gathering up the bags. “It doesn’t look like it’s going to let up anytime soon.”

“I will, John, thanks. Have a good night, you two.”

Mick came around and leaned on the counter as they left, staying under the awning to the safety of their own door. “Interesting fellas, those two. Nice blokes. Certainly better than Mrs. Turner’s pair.”

“Worth the occasional gas explosion?”

Mick shrugged. “It certainly never gets boring, luv.”


End file.
